


Third Time Lucky

by brynnmck



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-27
Updated: 2007-11-27
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Twice in one hour," Ray says, a little wistfully; he's eighteen twice over and change, now, and his birthday's coming up soon, and his refractory period's getting to be more like a refractory ellipsis.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [](http://aerye.livejournal.com/profile)[**aerye**](http://aerye.livejournal.com/) 's fault! See, as part of our Giving Thanks challenge/celebration over at [](http://ds-raysquared.livejournal.com/profile)[**ds_raysquared**](http://ds-raysquared.livejournal.com/) , Aerye posted this **[very serious scientific poll](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_raysquared/11967.html)** regarding the preferred sexual practices of our boys. And as soon as I saw The Stamina Question, Part I, coupled with the answer "Wipe that smug grin off your face, Kowalski," my immediate reaction was that I NEEDED to read that fic, like, YESTERDAY. However, since the universe stubbornly refuses to cater to my whims at all times, I figured maybe I should take things into my own hands and write it instead. So thanks to Aerye for the inspiration, [](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/profile)[**sdwolfpup**](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/) for the speed-beta, and to [](http://brooklinegirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**brooklinegirl**](http://brooklinegirl.livejournal.com/) for, ah, consultation. ("Hi BLG! Hope you're having a good evening. So, uh… how many times do we think a late-thirties guy can come in one night? Love, Brynn.") Also I lifted Kowalski calling Vecchio "Raimundo" from [](http://catwalksalone.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://catwalksalone.livejournal.com/)**catwalksalone** , because it is pretty much the hottest thing ever ever the end

The first time Ray and Kowalski catch the two kids, they let them go without even much of a warning.

"Public indecency's a misdemeanor," is all Ray tells the guy as he's buttoning up. Kid looks about eighteen, way too young to be dealing with a giggling girlfriend _and_ a full condom _and_ a button fly with any degree of dignity. Ray almost feels sorry for him, but then, anyone who's dumb enough to be nailing his girlfriend against a tree across from the police station probably deserves some embarrassment.

Kowalski's mouth is twitching.

The kid mumbles some apology and drags his still-giggling girlfriend away. But when Ray and Kowalski come back after dinner and find the kid there _again_ , the same tree and the same jeans but a different girl and hopefully a different full condom, Ray has to think he's just showing off.

"What're you, doubling down?" Kowalski demands, looking mostly disgusted but also kind of fondly reminiscent as he grabs the kid by the back of the neck. "Three misdemeanors and you get a felony, kid—you want the set of steak knives, too?"

"N-no," the kid stutters, and the girl looks genuinely scared, and Ray rolls his eyes at them both.

"Get outta here," Ray tells them, nodding toward the street. "But you better find some other place to indulge your exhibitionist tendencies, because we catch you back here again, _ever_ , and we will prosecute you and your dumbass teenage hormones to the fullest extent of the law. Got it?"

"Got it," the kids chorus, already starting to snicker again, and they erupt into full-blown laughter as they run off down the sidewalk.

Kowalski sighs. "Kids today, huh?"

"Twice in one hour," Ray says, a little wistfully; he's eighteen twice over and change, now, and his birthday's coming up soon, and his refractory period's getting to be more like a refractory ellipsis. "He'll get over that soon enough. Maybe we shoulda just let him enjoy it."

Kowalski doesn't answer right away, and when Ray looks over, Kowalski's watching him, head tilted to the side, appraising.

"What?" Ray demands.

Kowalski shrugs. "Nothing," and he sticks his hands in his jacket pockets and leads the way toward the car.

 

*****

 

Kowalski wins the coin toss, so he's driving. Or _not_ driving, as the case turns out to be, but instead pulling into the last available spot outside some neon-signed dive bar.

"Kowalski, what the hell are you doing?"

"We're getting a drink," Kowalski says, like they'd decided it hours ago, yanking up on the emergency brake.

"It's Wednesday night," Ray points out. Fridays, sometimes, they go for a beer or three on the way home, but even two cops' salaries can't pay for a decent apartment _and_ regular pilgrimages to the world of overpriced alcohol, so, it's sort of the exception rather than the rule.

"Yes, my detective skills had detected that, Vecchio, but thanks for the update. Now come on, get your ass out of the car or you'll be sitting here by yourself."

The driver's-side door slams behind him. Ray takes a minute to rest his head back against the seat. Living with Kowalski is sometimes kind of like living with a five-year-old, at least when it comes to impulse control, but Ray figures one drink isn't gonna kill him and he sighs and levers himself out of the car.

When they get inside, Ray starts heading for the bar, but Kowalski grabs his arm.

"Uh-uh."

"What?"

Kowalski jerks his head toward the back of the room. "Bathroom. C'mon."

"What—" Ray starts, but Kowalski's already moving, giving Ray one sharp tug after him as he passes.

Ray follows without really thinking about it; enough of a sideways jump from heading home to stopping here, and now it's more of a headlong dive from _let's have a beer_ to that greedy-hot look in Kowalski's eyes that Ray can't ever refuse. His body's moving and his brain's scrambling to catch up, which is pretty much how it's been with Kowalski from the beginning, anyway.

Sort of miraculously, they're the only ones in the bathroom. Kowalski pulls Ray into one of the stalls; it's dirty, like all bar bathrooms, but he's seen worse, and then he can't see anything because Kowalski pushes him up against the closed door and kisses him hard. Ray knows this is probably a bad idea—anyone could've seen them come in here, and they've still got their badges on, for chrissake, and Kowalski always wears his on his chest like a kid playing Sheriff, not exactly subtle—but he drags Kowalski closer anyway, fitting narrow hips against his own.

"Mmm," Kowalski hums approvingly, dragging his mouth away, scraping teeth along Ray's jawline. _"Yeah."_ His hands are busy and sure, slipping Ray's belt open. Then he drops to his knees.

"Kowalski—" Ray hisses, because the floor is probably disgusting, but his eyes flutter shut and his head thunks back against the dented stall door.

"Shh," says Kowalski, "nothing that won't wash out," and then he slides Ray's dick out of his pants and swallows it down deep.

Ray bites his lip to keep quiet, spreads his legs wider, his hands groping out. One buries itself in Kowalski's hair, the soft part in the back where the gel never quite reaches, and the other one lands on the cool, bent metal of the lock at the small of his back. He holds tight to that, the edge digging into his fingers while Kowalski works him fast and hard. There's graffiti on the wall, and that's funny, because Ray can't help thinking that he's having a pretty damn good time without having to call anybody, and he'd laugh but he's having trouble breathing and he's getting closer, thigh muscles straining, and—

The main door thuds open, letting in a flood of voices and music from the bar. Ray's heart jumps into his throat, and he pulls back a little, instinctively, but Kowalski just stays right there with him, never breaking his rhythm, looking up at Ray with wicked blue eyes. Drunken voices outside the stall, unsteady footsteps, something about the Bears' o-line. Adrenaline sizzles through Ray's veins, tangled with lust; this is so fucking stupid, and so fucking _hot_ he can hardly see. More stumbling feet, now, the door two stalls away banging, and the wet warmth of Kowalski's mouth all torture and temptation, and Ray bites his lip harder, till it hurts, because he just has to hold on, hold on, just another… few…

The main door creaks open again and Ray's choked cry is lost in the rush of bar noise.

Ray shifts his grip to the top of the wall next to him, hangs there still shuddering while Kowalski tucks Ray's dick away and pushes himself to his feet, wincing as his knees crack.

"What was that for?" Ray manages, gasping.

Kowalski shrugs and grins with slick, swollen lips. He reaches out, smoothes the fabric over Ray's chest. "I like your shirt," he says, then kisses Ray once more and slithers around him to leave the stall.

 

*****

 

When they get home, Ray makes _kotlet schabowy_ —Kowalski's favorite—and whistles the entire time, while Kowalski sits on the counter and smiles. Afterwards, they collapse on the couch for some channel-surfing, and Letterman's halfway through the top ten list when Ray looks over and sees Kowalski sprawled out even more than usual, watching Ray with heavy-lidded eyes, one hand rubbing slowly between his legs.

It's Ray's turn to grin, now, one eyebrow cocked. "Need any help with that?"

Kowalski laughs, his breath catching as he pushes down harder. "Maybe." He arches his back and neck, the light from the TV playing across his skin, and the words slip out of his mouth on a sigh. "Fuck me."

And Ray had honestly thought he was pretty good for the night, but he can feel his cock starting to swell again at the thought. Kowalski under him, smooth skin, ragged breaths, the curve of his hips fitting perfectly into Ray's hands…

"Yeah," he says, moving closer on the couch, feeling his own voice go gravelly. "Yeah, I think I can maybe manage that." He reaches down, puts one hand over Kowalski's, following his rhythm. Then he stops, catching Kowalski's fingers in his. "Tell me you want it."

Kowalski's eyes snap open, sharp with lust. "I want it," he says hoarsely.

"Yeah?" Ray says, letting a smirk spread across his face. Kowalski starts to breathe faster. "I bet you do. Look at you, all spread out for me." He leans forward, kisses Kowalski deep and slow. "Slut," he whispers when he pulls away, and Kowalski's cock twitches under his hand.

Ray's own dick is hardening, pressing against the zipper of his slacks. He stands up, popping the catch at his waist. "Pants. Off. Now," he says to Kowalski, who grins and answers,

"Thought you'd never ask."

Ray unbuttons his dress shirt but leaves it on, hanging open; Kowalski likes to feel the fabric against his skin. Kowalski yanks his own shirt off over his head, the black cotton faded with time and washing. They keep lube and condoms in a box under the couch, which maybe isn't the most secure place in the world, given Ray's nosy family, but he's glad for it now, sliding the condom on and slicking himself up. Kowalski just watches, standing there stroking himself lazily, his tongue barely visible between his parted lips.

There's a towel chucked over the armchair, evidence of Kowalski's trip to the gym the previous day, which Ray had given him shit about—the towel, not the gym—but also seems to be coming in handy at the moment, giving Ray something to throw over the upholstery before he spins Kowalski around, pushing him down so he's on all fours, hands braced on the arm of the couch. Kowalski shifts his hips back toward Ray, a small, impatient motion.

Ray grins, trailing lube-covered fingers over the bare skin of Kowalski's ass. "You really are so fucking easy, Kowalski," he murmurs.

"Wasn't," Kowalski manages through gritted teeth, inching back with his hips again, "before I met—" and then the words dissolve into a moan as Ray slips two fingers into him.

"I made you easy?" Ray asks after a few seconds, working his fingers, twisting, stretching. He kind of likes that thought, more than he'd expected to.

"Yes— _God_ —yeah—"

"Yes to the question, or yes to this?" Ray presses deep, and Kowalski falls forward on his elbows, head hanging down.

"Both—fuck—Vecchio—"

Ray puts one hand on the small of Kowalski's back, adds a third finger and hears Kowalski's breath catch. "Yeah?" he says, low, fascinated. "You mean you only want it like this with me?"

"Yes," Kowalski pants, fucking himself on Ray's fingers, opening up. "Yes, yes, you, Vecchio, _please_ …"

Absurdly touched, helplessly turned on, Ray leans forward and kisses the bumps of Kowalski's vertebrae as he slides his fingers out and lines himself up. He can't resist teasing just a little more, though, the head of his cock just nudging Kowalski's ass, till Kowalski groans,

 _"Vecchio,"_ like he's dying, and Ray smiles and pushes in.

Slow, slow, feeling Kowalski give around him, the liquid curve of Kowalski's spine under his hand. In and out, tight heat and cooler air. Normally his body is shouting at him by this point, _nownownow_ , but the blowjob in the bar had taken the edge off and now Ray's got just enough focus to notice things, the way Kowalski's fingers clutch at the towel underneath him, the way sweat is gathering at the base of his neck, the way every other breath is Ray's name. Ray changes the angle, thrusts in hard and feels Kowalski's muscles clench all the way down to his knees.

 _"Fuck,_ Vecchio…"

Ray does it again, again, again. His own orgasm is building at the base of his spine, but he's got all the time in the world and Kowalski's shaking, gasping, his toes curling against Ray's calves.

"That's it, Kowalski, come on," Ray tells him, leaning forward, one hand on the arm of the couch next to Kowalski's, the other gripping the skin of Kowalski's hip. He opens his mouth, presses his teeth against Kowalski's shoulder, licks away the imprint. Kowalski moans and shoves back against him. "God, I love fucking you," Ray whispers into his back. He keeps a relentless rhythm. "Love seeing you like this, love feeling you around me, love watching you, watching you take it—"

And Kowalski's whole body goes taut and he shudders against Ray, coming without either of them laying a hand on his dick.

That's more than enough to get Ray going, speeding his slow determination into urgency. He gives Kowalski a few seconds to recover and then lets himself go, hammering in with Kowalski gasping encouragement under him.

"Love you, Vecchio, love you, love you, love you," and he keeps repeating it even after Ray comes and collapses, boneless and blissed-out, on top of him.

 

*****

 

In the streetlight-tinted dark of their bedroom, Ray drifts up out of sleep to find Kowalski wrapped around him, chest against Ray's back, lube-slippery hand working steadily at Ray's dick. Which is as slow to wake up as Ray is; he's warm and half-dreaming and when he gets to actually forming words, what comes out is,

"Kowalski. There's gonna be _chafing_."

Kowalski chuckles in his ear. "I got faith in you, Vecchio. I think you can handle it."

Ray rolls over so he can see Kowalski's face, and Kowalski just takes the opportunity to hook a leg over Ray's hip, angling his pelvis to slide his already-hard cock along Ray's soft one.

"What's with you?" Ray asks, his mouth curving in spite of himself. "Did you take some sort of sex drug or something? Are you gonna need medical attention?"

"Need _some_ kind of attention," Kowalski grins. He's rocking lazily, easily, unyielding as a metronome. "Besides, didn't hear you complaining when you were fucking me over the couch earlier."

And what the _hell_ , there is no way Ray should be getting hard again, but he is, his blood like a low hum in his veins, leaving him sleep-fuzzed and light-headed. Kowalski's grin widens; Ray figures he'll just ride it out as long as it lasts. He owes Kowalski one, anyway.

Kowalski leans in and kisses him, sweet and hungry, no cover of cool or smug or sly. It's the kind of kiss Kowalski tends to save for special occasions, like make-up sex or solving a big case or one of them getting injured. And it always sends Ray reeling, because he loves Kowalski and he knows Kowalski loves him but most of the time they're pushing, sparking against each other, keeping each other warm. And when they're not doing that, they fit so close and so easy it's like nothing and everything at the same time. But this, this is both, Kowalski demanding and giving with the same kiss, asking and answering, and Ray mirrors him without thinking, answering-asking-giving-demanding all in his own way in their lumpy bed in their crappy apartment in the middle of the city they both love. And eventually Kowalski's panting into Ray's mouth, fingers digging hard into his bicep, and there's a rush of warmth between them and Ray closes his eyes and gives Kowalski everything he's got left.

 

*****

 

He wakes late the next morning; Welsh is gonna have their asses, but right now it's pretty hard to care. Kowalski's zonked out next to him, one arm flung out over the side of the bed, his mouth half-open, his hair sticking a million different directions. Ray resists the urge to poke him or kiss him or tickle him, slides out of bed as gently as he can.

But as soon as Ray's standing, Kowalski shifts, his legs scissoring vaguely under the covers. His eyes blink open, unfocused, squinting against the light, and he raises one hand to shield them. "You're not getting old, Vecchio," he says, his voice sleep-scratchy, his knuckles pressed into the skin between his eyebrows. "Or if you are, I'm getting old with you."

So _that's_ what this was about. Ray smiles, at least as best he can with his heart doing a slow flip and roll in his chest. "Okay," he says quietly, around the tightness in his throat. "Okay. I like the sound of that."

Kowalski's smile blooms on his face, so bright it makes Ray's chest ache to look at it. Then, after a few seconds, "Three times, huh, Vecchio?" he says, stretching ostentatiously. "Guess you must want me pretty bad."

Ray rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Wipe that smug grin off your face, Kowalski. This weekend, I'm gonna return the favor, don't you worry."

"Pretty big talk, Raimundo," Kowalski says, one eyebrow raised, his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Don't need to bluff when you got a full house," Ray tells him, grabbing one pale wrist and pulling. "Now get your ass out of bed, we're already late for work."


End file.
